


You Belong With Me

by RogerTaylorCanRawMe



Series: Queen One-Shots [15]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, crossed wires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerTaylorCanRawMe/pseuds/RogerTaylorCanRawMe
Summary: You have feelings for Roger, but you're convinced he doesn't feel the same way. Seeing girls on campus fawning over him only makes matters worse.





	You Belong With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at writing angst, yo!

You waited outside the cramped little dressing room. The heat was too much to bear. You were patient as Roger pulled himself together after his gig at the student union. You both had plans to get dinner afterwards, to celebrate together. But he was taking his time. He always did. He had been your best friend since you were fifteen. But you had always wished for more.

Now you were at university and he was becoming better known on the local music scene. You were drifting apart. He thrived on the attention he got from women in bars. And you stayed the same.

The amount of care you had for him. You cleaned him up when he was drunk. You helped him with uni work. You came to every show. And yet, he was in there, half naked, with a pile of groupies, fawning over him.

You could hear them. Laughing. Joking. Kissing. He did this every time.

The corners of your eyes burned. But you were far too proud. Too stubborn to let those little fuckers trickle down your face. You snapped and went home, leaving Roger to his night of debauchery.

You burst into your room like a hurricane. Huffing and sighing before finally collapsing on to your bed, face first. You were too stubborn to cry. Those little fuckers in the corners of your eyes weren’t coming out. They couldn’t.

Your roommate, Elsie, was hot on your heels. She threw herself down next to you, running her fingers through your hair. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Roger Meddows Taylor,” you grumbled.

Elsie sighed, rolling her eyes. “What’s he done?”

“Don’t even get me started.”

Elsie put her hand on your shoulder, trying to soothe you as you struggled to keep your composure. “You know what you should do the next time you see that noodly little dweeb?”

“What?” you asked. Your voice cracked as you slammed your fist on to the bed.

“Ignore him,” she said simply. 

Of course. Roger hated it when he wasn’t the centre of attention. He had always been that to you. So much so that he continually took you for granted. He had done that for the last time.

The next day, you were taking in a riveting lecture on orthodontics. As usual, Roger was late. Half an hour late.

He sauntered in, still reeking of booze. Shades on. No books. No pens. No notebooks. He slumped down next to you, elbowing you in the ribs. “What did I miss?” he whispered. 

His breath was disgusting. You recoiled, ignoring the question, keeping your eyes trained forward.

“Babe, do you have a spare piece of paper?”

Nothing.

“Babe?”

It became easier to drown him out the more you did it. But the more you ignored him, the more he talked. The more riled up he became.

“Are you ignoring me? What have I done? Why are you doing this?”

God, he was annoying. 

He kept it up for the remaining hour of your lecture. Trying to paw at your notebook to steal a scrap of paper or your spare pen. He hated being ignored. 

When the lecture was over, you were swift in gathering your things. Roger was still in a daze, he moved slowly. His thoughts were slow to process. He didn’t even realise what was happening when you barged past him and made a beeline out of the lecture theatre. 

But he did manage to catch you up. 

By now, your cheeks were crimson with the hurt you had been holding back. Your shoulders trembled and your clenched fists shook. 

And when he grabbed your arm to stop you from going any further? You swung round, your fist just missed his jaw.

Roger stumbled backwards, a petulant look on his face. “What the fuck?”

“Where did you go last night? We were supposed to get dinner.”

Roger straightened up, his mouth twitching, trying to form a response. “I got a bit sidetracked, I’m sorry.”

“You always bail on me, Roger. I’m sick of it.”

Roger knew he was in the wrong. He looked at you as if he were pleading. “You know I care about you.”

“Do I?” you asked, shrugging. “Because you sure as fuck don’t treat me like you do.”

He looked heartbroken.

“Those girls at the student union, they might be pretty, and they might get on their backs anytime you want. But they don’t put up with you when you’re drunk, mopping up your sick, or taking you to bed. And they don’t drive you to gigs when your van breaks down.” You gasped. The stinging in your eyes had returned. “And do you know why I do that, Roger Meddows Taylor?” You jabbed a finger in his direction, not allowing him a moment to respond. “Because I love you.”

Roger was dumbfounded. Too shocked to follow you. Instead, he looked around sheepishly as you walked away, back to your flat.

It took him two days to find you. Two days of wallowing. Two days of you and Elsie sitting on the sofa eating your weight in ice cream, concocting plans to make Roger suffer. Or ways to make him realise what he was missing. 

You were in bed. Comfy pyjamas on. Greasy hair matted to the side of your face. You hadn’t showered that day. All you had done was stare at the ceiling for three hours, letting out the occasional pained groan. 

You heard a knock at the front door. Then Elsie arguing with someone. Footsteps in the hall. Getting closer to your room. The door cracked open. Roger never knocked. He had a habit of barging in if he knew you were there. 

“Hi, it’s me,” he whispered.

You threw your hand over your eyes. “Go away.”

The bed dipped next to your feet. “I’ve been a bit of a dick,” Roger began.

“That’s an understatement.”

“I’m trying to pour my heart out here.”

“You don’t have a fucking heart.”

“Oh I do. And you’re sort of breaking it.”

You sat bolt upright, pointing at your chest. “Me? Really? What the fuck’s wrong with you?” You hadn’t noticed the flowers sitting next to Roger. Or the fact that he had managed to run a comb through his mane before he saw you. All you were concerned with was the nerve he had for blaming you for the potential end of your friendship.

“Listen,” Roger said, his voice soft, taking your hands in his. “I never dared to believe an angel like you could love me back. You’re beautiful. Smart. Unbelievably kind. I just thought you had decided to take pity on me one day when we were in school. You were always the prettiest girl in the class. Too sensible for me. But you were always there. And I’m sorry I let you down so much.”

“You could have just told me this,” you said.

“I was terrified you’d think it was a joke.”

You leaned in to him, not buying a word. But you knew exactly how that felt. The great and gorgeous Roger Taylor. The drummer boy that all the girls on campus fell over themselves to spend a night with. The man who thrived on exactly that. “And what about those other girls? What do they mean to you?”

“Well they’re not you, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m settling for second best. They’re distractions. It doesn’t make up for how I’ve been treating you, though.”

You sighed, eyeing him. His eyes were wide, staring at you, waiting, glistening in the crack of light from the hall. He could be the sweetest person in the world when he wanted to be. He certainly looked as angelic as he wanted you to believe he was. “What do you want from me, Rog?” you asked, raking your fingers through his hair.

Roger picked up the bouquet and presented them to you. “I just want us to be ok. Please. I love you too. I wish I had told you that sooner.”


End file.
